Not Ructions

how numerous the roseate daffodils 
play cadenzas to your mind and not
to my heart that seashores venerable 
nature's own lime cloister noticeably
vast then open as trunktop nudged within
film noir you guessed it time to sip the creek
to match the sky hell's afroze for now
too early to be walking just enough
to slither eyes across graypink pinkgray
swathes of sky the mince pied half
solitude come thanks day when others
have our collective oaths removed and we 
dimly lit within one freeze frame shutter
a fly-by portrait of you in my eye 

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